


Becoming The Mask

by Aladayle



Category: Death Note
Genre: Drug Use, Kira-Free Zone, OC Shinigami, Shinigami, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aladayle/pseuds/Aladayle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryuk is the hard-living lead singer of the rock band "Ryuk's Apple" in the 1980s, and he likes two things: apples and cocaine. But when a mysterious notebook falls into his hands, he thinks he's finally found the way to ace his climb up the charts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ink and Powder

**Author's Note:**

> I had this theory on how people become Shinigamis...and it all revolves around belief. Have fun with my look on what Ryuk's life was like...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryuk is taking a quick smoke break before his band goes on when he sees a notebook on the ground.

### Ink and Powder

"Aahhh...." 

"Ryuk, c'mon, hand it over." 

"Fuck you, get your own." 

"I paid for half of it, I want half of it!" 

"Fine, just stop your whining." Ryuk laughed, and moved away from the table, where three more uniform lines of white powder lay waiting. He grabbed an apple from the bowl in the corner, and started eating, grinning just a little. Ah, yes, simple, juicy sweetness to go with that burning in his nose. It was the perfect combination. 

"Do we really want to be doing coke right before a show?" the drummer asked. 

"Sure, why the hell not?" 

"Oh, I don't know, all kinds of things could go wrong. And considering we're still pretty new..." 

"We signed a contract, Roman, we're fine." 

"Ven, come on, don't call me that, that's my stage name. Why're you treating yours like it is your name?" 

"Because fuck you, that's why. It _is_ my name." 

"Ven--" 

He glared. 

"Fine, fine, _Ryuk_. Nevermind, just...look, at least go out the back door and have a smoke or something, get some fresh air. We've got ten minutes to show time."

"Jesus, _Sam_ , what the fuck are you, my mother?" Ryuk huffed, as he threw away the core of the apple and grabbed one of the several packs of cigarettes from the table. "I only need five." 

He sighed briefly and lit up the second he was outside. "This shit keeps up, I'm going to need another drummer." 

_Flip. Flip. Flip._

Ryuk glanced to the side, and saw a notebook on the ground, whose pages were being turned by the gentle breeze. He took a quick drag from the cigarette, exhaled, and went to look. 

"Death...Note. Well, if that isn't the dumbest shit I've ever seen in my life..." But he picked it up anyway, and turned it back to the first page. "...the human whose name is written in this note shall die. Huh, that sounds...must be a gift from a fan or something, probably looked dark enough to him. Eh, what the hell. Won't take effect unless the writer has the person's face in mind when they write their name...okay, that makes sense, I guess. Ha, look at me...reading some crazy shit like this. Cause of death must be written within...hmm...this is oddly specific, isn't it?" 

He thought about throwing it away, but on a sudden whim, went back inside, taking a pen from the cup on the desk in the corner. He waved off the questions the rest of the band threw at him, mentioned he'd be along in a minute, and headed straight for the bathroom. 

Dull fluorescent light flickered on. He looked down at the first empty page. 

"This has to be the dumbest...ah, the hell with it." he thought for a minute, thought hard, and finally came up with a name. It was a rival singer, someone who had on more than one occasion stolen his gigs when he was just starting out. Not to mention he was just a grade A asshole too. 

Besides, it wasn't like this would actually work, right? 

"...A...very...Trent...wood. There we go. Let's see, he's into heroin, can't pick that...I want to know for sure...ah, I know. Drives his Camaro off the Twelfth Street bridge at...let's see, it's about nine now, so...midnight. I hate that fuckin' Camaro. Drowns." He had a sudden rush of laughter, and a minute later the drummer was banging on the bathroom door. 

"Ryuk! Get on out here, it's time to go!" 

He kept laughing, tucking the notebook under his shirt, into his waistband. No time to hide it anywhere else anyway, and if it worked, he wanted to keep it close.

The lightheadedness hit as he took the stage with the rest of the band, but the rush was intense. 

"Welcome to the stage....RYUK'S APPLE!" 

The announcer spoke, the crowd went wild with applause... 

And Ryuk grinned.

* * *

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

"Fucking alarm clock...." Ryuk grumbled, smashing the snooze button. "Hey, the rest of you..." he sat up, looking across the hotel room, where the other three band members were watching the television. 

"Just last night, too..." 

"What? What happened just last night?" 

He'd forgotten about the notebook briefly, in the blaze of energy that the coke and the crowd and the music had put him into. But it came rushing into his mind again when he came over and looked at the television screen. 

"Late last night, authorities were alerted to a crash site on Twelfth Street. A green Camaro apparently drove off the bridge and fell into the river. The only occupant, 27 year old singer Avery Trentwood, was discovered dead at the scene, and though authorities suspect drug use had a hand in his death, they have declared it an accidental drowning." 

Ryuk stood, paralyzed in place. 

Drove off the bridge. 

In that Camaro. 

Drowned. 

They were all things that he had specified. And they had all happened. 

"We're now going live, to the scene." 

Ryuk watched as the news cut to a cameraman on Twelfth, just near the bridge, where caution tape had been set up. 

"Thanks, Jim. This was actually called in about midnight or so by a local who heard the commotion--" 

Midnight. 

It had happened at midnight. 

The notebook had worked.


	2. A God Of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The owner of the notebook comes to call, and Ryuk learns a few things.

### Acid House

Ryuk felt a bit sick, and whether it was from the coke the night before or the knowledge that he had actually killed a man, that the notebook had actually worked, he didn't know. 

"You okay there, man?" the drummer looked back. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said quickly, "Just a bit shocked, that's all. I mean, heroin maybe, but crashing off a bridge. Especially in that car of his? Didn't think he'd ever endanger it like that." 

"Eh, it happens. One less piece of competition for us, though, right?" 

"Right. Practical mind you got there, Sam." As Ryuk turned away, he was grinning. 

That WAS a good idea. 

* * *

A week later, he'd filled up another page with various rival band leaders or members, and oddly enough found himself having a lot of fun. 

Walked in front of a bus with a bagful of glitter from a party supply store. 

Jumped off a bridge naked wearing a flag. 

Got high on coke, getting a nosebleed, and drawing crude 'your mom' jokes all over a wall before expiring of a heart attack. 

He was giggling when he wrote that last one. It was nearly midnight and the rest of the band was already asleep in their separate rooms, eager to get some rest for a two p.m. show the next day. 

"Is it that funny?" 

Ryuk turned around, notebook still in hand, and nearly fell out of his seat. 

He was looking up at a....well, he didn't quite know what it was. 

It was tall, and had an impeccably neat pinstriped suit. But that was where the normal stopped. It had no neck--its skeletal head was floating over its shoulders, and a red flame seemed to be constantly burning in its right eye. He appeared to be carrying some oddly shaped gun at his hip--then Ryuk realized that a small book was strapped to the thing. Long gangly arms stretched from its shoulders; it had huge rings on both hands, two on the left, three on the right. 

"Who the fuck are you?!" 

"The Shinigami attached to the notebook, boy. Don't you know how to read? Or are you shoving too much powder up your nose?" 

"...oh. I guess I forgot about you." 

"You don't even know what is meant by 'possessed' do you?" 

"Er, you're going to take my body?" 

The Shinigami laughed. 

"Why the hell would I want _your_ body anyway? Is this some kind of sexual shit? " 

"No. No. Er...uh, so...why don't you tell me why you're here?" 

"I got nothing better to do, that's why. Gets boring just sitting around watching other folks gamble and nap. Most ridiculous thing you ever saw in your life. Or unlife rather." There was another laugh, and suddenly a puff of smoke issued from his lips. 

"So what, you just follow me around? I got things to do, you know." 

"Nobody but you can see me," he said, "Unless you let them touch the notebook. And I really don't suggest that." 

"And how long do you hang around?" 

"Until I get bored of you." 

"...and then what happens?" 

The Shinigami drew the gun up--it was old, rusted over, even--and showed where the book, which Ryuk now saw to be another Death Note, was mounted on the side. "I write your name in here, boy." 

"So I shouldn't be boring." It scared him, frankly, but he figured he could be entertaining enough. He was in rock music, after all, and what was more entertaining than that? And then there was the notebook. Ah, the fun he could have with that. 

"Now you're getting the hang of it. Been a while since I actually looked into this world, y'know. I see a lot of dumb punks like you, thinking they're all big and bad." 

"With this notebook, I am." 

"You got power, boy. What're you going to do with it?" 

"I'm going to use it." 

"Well of course you are. I mean, do you have something in mind." 

"I want to be the biggest rock star in the world, how about that?" 

"Oh, you're one of those punks who makes noise and shouts a lot and calls it music." 

"The screaming crowds would disagree with you. Music is music, and it changes with the times. Besides, it's just a means to an end. I don't really care for it." 

"Really? You're out there making an ass of yourself and your whole heart isn't in it? That's no way to make a living." 

"Well...no, you know what? I think before we start debating we need to know each other's names. I'm Ryuk. I don't care what Sam says, that's my name." 

"Whatever you want to be called. Doesn't change what I'll be writing, though." The Shinigami shrugged, and smoke exhaled from its skeletal mouth again. "So you've filled that first page up. Lots of names...not the most work I've ever seen done, but then again, I've seen a lot of stuff. And my name, well...I s'pose you could call me the Silencer." 

"How about just Silent?" It was a weird-ass name, Ryuk thought, but considering death would likely be the result of speaking his mind, he decided to err on the side of caution. "Mind if I ask why that name, though? That's not the kind of name you get given at birth." 

"It was the name I was given when I died," Silent replied with a shrug. "The hell do you care?" 

"Just trying to be polite. I mean, some death god shows up in your room...you saying you wouldn't be curious?" 

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know," Silent leaned forward, breathing more smoke. 

"Satisfaction brought him back." 

He earned a pat on the back for that. "Ah, boy, I think we'll get along after all."


End file.
